A poem about dreams by David Tombale: Upon the road

There is a value in dreaming. It raises is us out of the monotony of our ordinary lives and offers a glimpse into something better but sometimes our dreams we fail to achieve our dreams and are left with nothing more than the memory of them. This poem is about those times.
Upon the road

The dreams that spin their gold beyond
these halls are faint, they do not often
leave their mark upon these people

Here the shadows pay them constant
call, dirty the heavy linens, retreat from
hacking coughs, there is a line embedded
in my skin, a testament to my weary
days and beside my bed lies another traveler
on this long paved road to nowhere,
he tells me he always wanted to be a singer
but the blood that twists the expression
on his face has bloodied the purple of his
lips

There are no dreams here only this
heaviness of body like the soul is struggling
to be rid of us, to be rid of here and when the
surgeon raises his gleaming scalpel in my head
I pray he’ll cut my cord to let me go.

A poem about family by David Tombale: Satchmo and the garden

Satchmo and the garden grew out of this image that was in my head, sort of a portrait of a grown man and his elderly father. No matter how grown we get there is vulnerability we still possess around our parents and that's what I tried to show with this piece.
Satchmo and the garden

Lilies by my window,
I’m looking into the garden,
The dog is rubbing his hairy
Rear upon my lawn, gambolling
Around

He seems happy.
I do not cry,
I can’t remember when I did

There is music somewhere far
Behind me, sounds like Satchmo

How funny, I thought my father
Hated jazz

It’s just he and I today, I sent the
Nurse out to get the paper

My father doesn’t read these days,
His eyes have gotten bad so when
He walked into the room I had to
Stand

I took his hand in mine and showed
Him Charlie playing in the garden
And finally he smiled.